Still riding. Still writing. Still wondering.

Near miss (2)

The signs were quite clear: Men Working; Road Narrows. But the guy in the car behind me decided they didn’t apply to him. So with engine screaming, he overtook, downhill on a blind bend, barely squeezing between me and a parked truck, which two blokes were loading with branches they’d just finished cutting from the trees beside the road. I just hope he was going somewhere really, really important.

NEAR MISS (2)

If you’re going to kill me,
Do it right:

Pull a gun
Stick a knife
Hurl a fist
Or press your thumbs against my throat;

Give me an end
To make a song
Or tale my little one can tell:
A glorious fall
In single combat
One-on-one
In defence of something precious,

Not some senseless, sightless
Snuffing-out
On a rainy Monday
A mile from home.

If you’re going to kill me,
Do me this much kindness:
Look me in the eye
And prove you are
As much a man as me.